Living on a Thin Line
by SolitaryPoison
Summary: Harry has a mission he refuses to stop. The Yugioh gang find themselves standing in the way of his goal. Yet when the lines of rivalry and passion are blurred, the stakes are raised. In this game there are no winners, & both sides stand to lose all. SLASH


Disclaimer: Do not own Yu Gi Oh! or Harry Potter, blahdy blah blah blah

Warnings: Swearing, Slash/Yaoi, it's early days yet so I'm not sure really, but it's rated M, so expect anything that can go with that. You reading this is you forewarned. If you don't read this, ain't my problem deary :D

Pairings: Again, not sure yet…I've got a few ideas, but I'll figure it out more as I go along.

Note: First, yes, I know it's short. It's just a prologue anyway, but I'm really just trying to see if anyone is receptive to this idea. Secondly, I know I have so many other stories to update, but I'm been bust with school and stuff, and this idea has been sat on my computer for a while now. I can't promise anything like regular updates. An while I know it's annoying when authors don't update for aaaaaaaaages, I personally prefer to put my ideas out there, if only to inspire others. And I quite like this one :D

To those who have read some of my other work, nice to see you again xxx To those who haven't nice to meet you!

I hope you enjoy….

**Prologue**

It's a Monday night when Seto Kaiba first sees him. The sky is star-sprinkled, painted in shades of black and grey. The wood is bathed in moonlight, the trees' silhouettes distorted in its river reflection. There is only silence, but for the rustlings of small creatures and the quiet rhythmic inhalations of his own breathing. He comes here for solitude and quiet reflection, but there is something eerie about the place tonight. He can't decide if it's cold.

The boy is sat on a low thick tree branch, which reaches all the way over the river. His back is against the tree trunk, one leg dangling whilst the other is held to his chest, and he makes no movement or noise. Seto wonders if he should purposely make a noise, so that the dark haired boy knows he is there, but something about the complete stillness of the stranger, the almost unnoticeable tenseness, makes him believe the boy already knows. So instead he makes his way to his usual spot beside the river, and lays his cloak down to sit on it. He hasn't seen the boys face.

He's allocated himself one hour for his own tormented reverie, in between the meetings and the duels and Mokuba. Time for him to wallow in the tempestuous pools of self pity, to entertain the what ifs and maybes that not even he, in all his portrayal of confidence and pride, can avoid. But for once his brain won't let him, and stays fixed firmly in the present. His eyes are unconsciously drawn to the rippled reflection of the boy in the water. When the reflection raises its head, emerald green eyes catch Seto's, and shivers run down his spine. He's caught for a moment, like a fox in a trap, before that flight or fight instinct catches up with him, and he springs from his position. He doesn't look back and he doesn't stop. His cloak lies abandoned on the leafy carpet. The boy smiles.

Encompassed in the warmth of the limo, Seto lets out a sigh which leaves no condensation. He looks out the tinted window to see the ground slowly painted white by still falling snowflakes. His veins feel heated, his head pounding, as it does when the body makes the transition from cold to hot too quickly. But he hadn't been cold, and it would have taken more than his cloak to stave off winters icy assault. His cloak…he had been in such a hurry he'd left it. How aggravating. He goes to press the buzzer which allows him to speak to his driver, and draws back quickly, clenching the quivering fingers before relaxing. No, he'd go back for it tomorrow.

He tells himself he's almost home, that it's not worth the effort, and far too cold to be out in the forest anyway. He contemplates forgetting the cloak completely, but it's a favourite of his, from one of japans greatest designers, and it would be such a shame to waste it. No, he'll return. Just…not today. Not in the dark. He'll later tell himself that it's just healthy wariness that dissuades him from returning there and then, that the woods of Domino are not safe when the sun has set. Yet darkness is when he always walks the streets and woodlands of the city, and those green eyes won't leave his mind.

Too cold. Too hard. Too dead. Trapped. And angry.

Eyes like those are not meant for human bodies, or human sight.

He returns in the early morning, after a fitful nights sleep consisting of tossing and turning and aggravated dreams. He left the mansion to escape the worried tones of his brother when addressing the dark circles under his eyes, and the tense set to his mouth. He'd needed something to do, a purpose. Then he remembered the cloak abandoned on the forest floor. So after a quick order to his driver, they were off.

He sits in the limo now, contemplating the events of the night before. It hadn't been that strange, really. He'd probably just been too curious of the boy to really notice the cold, and he had always had a high threshold for pain and discomfit. And the boy himself? What about him?! He was just a little weird, that's all, sat in that tree and staring at the water.

Then the thought strikes him that maybe the eerie stranger had been there for the same reason as he – to escape the wearying constraints of everyday life, and find solace and solitude in the melody of the waters rivulets, and the whispering of the trees. Seto frowns as he thinks of how he ran. How stupid he must have looked. How scared…

But it didn't matter really, he supposes. He's never seen the boy before, and probably will never see him again. Just another person to pass through his life like nothing more than a dream.

The limo stops, and Seto opens the door before the driver even manages to open his own. He barks an order for the man to wait there, and though his employee is not pleased, -his contract including body guarding as well as driving- he knows it is best to listen to Kaiba. His job is comfortable: excellent pay, good pension, a large room in the mansion and an unlimited contract. He has no wish to lose it. Though of course, like any job it has it's downside. In this case, that would be the numerous orders from his boss, the twenty four hour, any time day or night kind of shift, and of course, the high risk of death. But that all comes with the territory.

So Taro Yamada settles into the driver's seat, turns up the heating, and turns on the radio. Seto walks into the forest alone…

It is once again a freezing cold day, and Seto wraps his coat tightly around his body, shivering as the wind nips at his cheeks. The icy leaves crunch as he steps on them, every noise a crescendo in the complete stillness of the forest. There are not even any birds. He supposes it's far too cold for even them to be happily singing. Strangely enough, the thought makes him feel a twinge of sadness.

He carries on down the woodland trail, marked out by rocks that outline a dirt path that is barely distinguishable from the rest of the woodland floor. Few people come here. He hears the river before he reaches it, though the sound of the water running is distorted from how he is used to it, and not so fast.

When he reaches it, the sheets of ice on the surface are obvious, broken and cracked in many places, but still covering most of the river. It muffles the sound from the water, morphs the reflection of the trees into something unrecognisable. He crouches down at the rivers edge, reaches out a hand to brush the ice. He draws it back as soon as it touches. Fucking freezing. Then he chuckles to himself, barely audibly. What did he expect?

Then he remembers what he came for.

His notices first that the cloak is not where he left it. There is no sign of it, and no patch on the ground to show where it had previously lain. He frowns, angering slightly. _That little tree brat must have stolen it! _He thinks, irritation showing on his face. Then his eyes are drawn to the branch, high up in a naked Sakura tree, the only one he could see.

And there, neatly folded, was his cloak.


End file.
